Waifs and Strays
by Shruika
Summary: Having wandered through rooms devoid of all warmth, time and again ending up in conflict with others, Draco begins to wonder about the meaning of words like 'home' and 'relation', and wether one really always needs a good reason.
1. Chapter 1

This story now finally continues with the 5th chapter which introduces you to the main story arc set five years after the happenings of chapters one to four. You might skip the 'prequel' and start with the 5th chapter without tumbling upon any comprehensional difficulties.  
Having said this, enjoy 'Waifs and Strays'.

* * *

_A scream.  
Silent and desperate.  
When there are so many people to hear  
Why does nobody listen?_

His pale yet attractive features were indifferent as his grey eyes coldly looked down at the other students in front of him. In fact, some of them were about the same height es him, a seventeen year-old boy, but the gaze he gave them let them feel inferior and naked. Those seemingly emotionless eyes didn't waver, didn't lose their prey.  
One of the young wizards finally worked up the courage to speak and in doing so eased the situation for his fellows a little who averted their gaze and started to concentrate on their leader again.  
'What now, you punk?', said one asked cockily now and jerked his chin at the blonde in front of him.  
'Dare to say somethin', for example, like apologising for bumping into me?'

At first, the blonde didn't react, except that he lifted one eye-brow unimpressed. Provocating. One of the gang members clenched his fists, however, before he could do anything rash, the pale wizard raised his voice. A voice as cold and piercing as his eyes but with an unmistakable arrogant tone.  
'Apologise yourself if you need an apology. This street's not made for filthy retards like you. So sod off.'  
'Don't make me laugh, so you wanna say the street's made only for conceited pure-bloods like yourself?', the boy who had thwarted the blonde's way spit in disgust.  
A sudden flare of an undefined feeling flickered over Draco Malfoy's face, too fast vanished than to be noticed by any observer. Nevertheless, his demeanour grew slightly more aggressive, his voice tense, as if he needed all his focus not to lose his temper and instead stay unperturbed.  
Numerous spells whirred in his head, easy, effective, tempting. Dangerous.  
'You better get out of my way and forget your stupid idea of trying to deal with a Malfoy. Your company is undesired', he said coolly, directing the words to all three.  
And yet, he had to stand above such impudence like a Malfoy was supposed to.

'Else what?', came the gang leader's immediate question challengingly but his friends had already started murmuring and their susurrus sounded nervous.  
'Did he say 'Malfoy'?'  
'That's actually one of the most famous pure-blood families – and one of the most influential, too.'  
'I bet he could get us expelled if he grassed on us.'  
'What if he's just lying? Everyone knows the Malfoys.'  
'Yeah, but did you notice? He looks exactly like that, what's his name, Lucius Malfoy!'  
'Urg. An aquaintance of my mum told us he's like a walking refridgerator.'  
'That guy could probably really get us in trouble if he tells the truth.'

Angry, because none of his fellows showed any sign of standing up for him against that arrogant Malfoy or whatever, the leader first shouted at them for being such chickens and then turned back at the cause of his enragement.  
Obviously, this cause had gotten bored listening to them for the tip of a precious wand was now pointing right into the boy's face. Cold grey eyes pierced him and this time there was no sassy saying which saved the rioter.  
'I hate to repeat myself and I definetely won't do it a third time: Out of my way.'  
It didn't help that the others also held their wands since the blonde had been faster and could hex their friend before they would be able to prevent the damage.

Slowly raising his hands beside his head in defense, the boy who'd cursed his companions seconds ago was now backing down towards the middle of his little group.  
Draco took a step forward and walked past them. Inwardly, he formulated a spell and he was right in doing so because as soon as he'd turned his back to the other boys, one of them shot some reddish flashing hex at him and he didn't even need to look behind to know that his invisible shield had easily disposed it.  
Silent, he walked on, entering some brisker streets, passing by windows full of magical stuff and alluring objects. Most of them – at least of the qualitative branded articles – could be found at his home.

_A hand.  
Reaching for something neither gold nor power can buy you.  
When there are so many purchasable things making people happy  
Why can't you get your own happiness just as easily?_

A sting in his chest. Not allowing himself even the tiniest outward reaction, Draco passed by a young couple and their laughing child. The little girl – she couldn't be older than five or six years – giggled happily as her father took her into his arms and held her hight above his head. The woman next to him had laid her hand onto his back and smiled.  
Whilst the seventeen year-old student of Hogwarts made his way through the wizards and witches who all seemed to have chosen exactly this day to enjoy the fine weather, go shopping and sit in front of cafés with big bowls of ice, neither the hilarious atmosphere around him nor the warm sun on his cheeks nor the smells of fresh summer flowers and spices were able to brighten up his mood. Much less let him relax. The family that had catched his eye, and it wasn't even important who exactly they were, had reminded him of something unpleasant.  
A feeling of being lost, being completely omitted spread irresistably in him and the sight of something he would never get hurt.  
It hurt much.  
And somehow he had to deal with these strange, abhorred feelings which always fast turned into disappointment and finally into rage.

Trying hard not to pay any attention to the people around him, Draco eventually arrived at his destination: A shop which selled rare potions and – for a certain extra charge – also special and not so legal poisons underhand. Goes without saying, the entry lay around a corner partly hidden in the shadows of an old, high building, near to Nocturne Alley.  
As he entered, a raven croaked welcomingly. At least, Draco found it welcomingly and when he met the animals stare and storm grey eyes met with glittering black ones, the bird fluttered down from his place on a barred locker and landed almost carefully on the boy's outstreched arm. He ran his free hand over the silky black feathers and could feel the raven's radiating warmth.

'What a nice surprise to see young Master Malfoy', sounded a male voice suddenly and Draco lifted his gaze again to look at the shop's owner, a white-haired wizard who was about ninety years old and had worked in this well-appointed treasure room for as long as he could remember. The man smoothed his trimmed beard out and continued, smiling mellifluously:  
'And it is quite obvious that Shruiken here has taken a shine to you, as well, Master Malfoy. Isn't that a nice thing? Usually, he behaves rather unpolitely and tries to pick my customers. If it wasn't you, I'd say you like ravens. But your father thinks of them as flying rats and dirty offscourings, doesn't he. How unfortunate, how -'

The blonde interrupted him, in the same moment shaking the raven off that flapped its wings disapppointedly and returned to its high look-out on the locker.  
'I do hope my father's order has arrived in time, Calligan.'  
Calligan kneaded his wrinkled hands, still smiling, and – with a bow maybe a little too deep for a young student – turned to disappear into one of the many back rooms. After some low spells and clicking noises he returned to the counter and handed over an inconspicious packet which Draco immediately let vanish with a small movement of his wand. One never knew...

'Of course, it's the best I could get, just like always. Do not hesitate to call me again if there's the need for anything', said the old wizard.  
'By the way', he added when Draco was about to leave the crammed shop. 'Why don't you take Shruken here with you? He doesn't even like me, his owner, but got along with you at once. I've never been able to read the future but that must be some kind of sign, don't you think? Please keep him, he'll be very useful to you, I give you my word.'  
The pale boy halted impalpably, pondering only for a second, before he answered coldly:  
'I see no reason in keeping a common raven. Spare me your sentimentality.'  
With these words, he turned on his heels and stepped out of the shop which by now had become far too suffocating than to be endured any longer.

_A barrier.  
Crackling cold and sharp-edged.  
When, at last, you've found a way to protect yourself from unnecessary pain  
Why does the subsequent loneliness hurt you in the same breath?_

It was late afternoon when Draco arrived at home. Though it probably would be hard for everyone else, everyone common, to call the uninviting huge, old mansion 'home'. But Draco had lived here for as long as he could remember. He didn't know 'home' differently, apart from maybe the dorms in Hogwarts.  
And since they had summer holidays the students were to return to their families for six weeks.  
The stately home partly built in renaissance style casted a shadow over him as he approached the grand entrance door. Behind him he could hear the family's private chauffeur departing, the noble coach which was drawn by two magical horses, a special breeding that could also walk in the air on a level of about fifteen metres if necessary. That made the way home over all the fields and rural roads where nobody really cared how many potholes there were much more bearable and let the traveller arrive without serious spinal and back disorders.  
Looking out from the coache's windows outward bound, Draco hadn't seen anybody for miles and that was not astonishing since no-one else lived on the Malfoy estate. No employees or the like and hence nor quarters for them either; they had house-elves doing the houskeeping most effectively.  
And even now, as he reached his hand for the door handle, there was no sign of another creature nearby. Stepping over the threshold, Draco closed the door again and took a deep breath.  
With a 'POP' one of the numerous house-elves appeared left to him and bowed until its bat-like ears touched the cold marble ground of the entrance hall.

'Hopefully, young Master had a nice journey and has arrived sound and safe.'  
The magical creature, only reaching up to Draco's knees and clad in some rag of undefinable colour, straightend up and looked at its master expectantly with big ball eyes.  
The blond boy stroke a pale hand through his smooth hair, his eyes wandering through the hall, over the broad spiral stairs and the closed doors leading to other parts of the mansion and back to the patient house-elf who hadn't moved an inch.  
'The bags are at the gates, get them into my room', he finally said and didn't care that his voice sounded exhausted. Suddenly, he felt very tired although the sun hadn't set yet and they hadn't had real lessons either today, for even the teachers had already adjusted themselves to holidays.  
With another bow and the typical 'POP' the small creature disappeared into thin air, without question following its master's new order.

As Draco climbed the stairs, one hand on the handrail's dark mahogany wood, a strange feeling crept over him. On the spur of a moment, he lifted his gaze – and saw his father standing right at the stairhead. The same grey eyes he possessed were looking down on him now and the same silver blond hair, only longer, shimmered in the slowly fading daylight and framed a pallid pointed face.  
'Draco.'  
A voice, cold and reserved, was to be heard as Lucius Malfoy spoke. It was a plain matter-of-fact statement but this was all the youngster would get for a welcome.  
'Father', he answered in the same voice and tilted his head slightly down. Respect was one of the fundamental conditions of living along the patriarch, he'd learned that lesson early enough.  
Draco didn't move until his father had walked down to him and even then he stood stock-still, not lifting his gaze from the steps.  
'Your teacher comes at eight o'clock. Be presentable by then.'  
'Yes, father.'  
'You may go to your room now, Draco. I'll be in my study and don't want to be disturbed.'  
'Yes, father.'

For a split-second, the thin lips of Lucius adumbrated a content simper, then he continued his way down the staircase and vanished with the flutter of his expensive gown.  
Left back stood the Malfoy heir and it needed a few minutes before he pulled himself together and finally reached the first floor. He felt as if hours had passed since he'd arrived.  
With a quiet moan he trew himself onto his bed as soon as he'd entered his own room. Or better, rooms, for there was a private bath as well plus a balcony and the size of his bed room alone would have outmatched a commener's living room.

_A moan.  
Tired and outworn.  
When your life seems to be that easy-going and untroubled  
Why does it take away your air to breathe?_

Lying outstreched on the soft blankets, out of the corner of his eye the young wizard noticed a motion to his right. In the next moment he felt gentle footsteps at the end of his bed and then on his back.  
A low chuntering and Draco smiled slightly when he turned onto his back to see a creature similiar to a cat but with ears much too big for one and a strange lion-like tail snuggling against him. The Kneazle's feline eyes locked with the boy's and as Draco put forth his hand and caressed the graceful hunter, it started to purr with pleasure.  
'Yeah, missed you, too', he mumbled absent-mindedly, stroking through the dark dappled fur; it was so silky and the Kneazle itself so warm, so alive...

_Why does it suffocates you?_


	2. Yearning

All alone in the grand room on his first day of the summer holiday with only his pet as companion, the peaky looking blonde remembered how he'd gotten the Kneazle years ago...

* * *

His father and he had attended an exposition of rare magical animals and those which were hard or dangerous to deal with. Amongst others, there had been hippogryphons, fancy snakes, overseas birds with gaudy feathering and some of them – birds as well as snakes – wore natural jewellery on their glittering bodies. The highlight had been the dragon show; acutally, the organisers had only gotten the permit for two of that ferocious kind but their presentation was sufficient to find buyers.  
However, the real reason for Lucius Malfoy to drag his son to that exposition had a certain meaning which was revealed as the tall, blond man halted in front of a cage of about two cubic metres, his black cane with the typical silver snake's head as the handle obstructed Draco's passage without warning and for a split-second the boy had feared to have misbehaved.  
He looked up to his father who didn't answer his questioning gaze but – still facing the hissing creatures in their cage – asked the vender about their characteristics and if they had already belonged to a person.

'No, Master Malfoy', answered the venter overeagerly and patted onto the bars which got him another vicious snarl. Taking his hand away, the man continued:  
'This is the best breeding you can get in Europe, totally pure, not a single house-cat in there, but since they are young and haven't had any owner or better, didn't choose any owner yet, they're – er – still somewhat wild. But you know how it is, this kind is always a hard challenge for every wizard or witch who wants to deal with them. Nonetheless, I am positive about you being able to handle one, Master Malfoy, no doubt about it.'

Lucius Malfoy smiled without the mimic reaching his unemotional eyes.  
'Oh, it's not for me but for my son here, Draco.'  
With his free hand he shoved the pale ten years old boy forward.  
The ventor's own smile dropped a little and although he muttered something like 'far too young for such a nasty pet' and 'only for experienced wizards', he was all smiles and after a quick spell, he handed Draco his new - freshly petrified – pet. A Kneazle.

The boy didn't know exactly what to think of this present; usually, everything he got had a certain purpose, most of the times that a Malfoy was to always have the best of the best. The most expensive designer robes, the newest or most detailed books about (black) magic, the fastest broom... He couldn't even begin to list all the things his family owned only for prestige.  
And now – a pet? Which wasn't even that rare, only said to be difficult to handle...  
He examined it:  
Silky fur, almost black, with several dark-grey dabbers. A svelte, cat-like build but it was bigger than a normal cat and its ears were twice the usual size. And although the vender had just immobilised the animal with a spell, the long tail with the tuft at its end twiched back and forth and the reddish feline eyes pierced themselves into Draco's grey ones.  
He didn't avert his eyes. What use had a too big cat? He wasn't interested in pets and by all the rules, he had always thought his father wasn't either.  
A drub with the cane pulled him out of his thoughts rather painful and he only didn't feel for his leg because he knew it was his own fault for being inattentive and unpolite. Also, it would definetely make his father angrier if he showed his pain. Malfoys didn't show any weakness.  
He apologised to his father for being distracted and after Lucious had paid for the Kneazle, they'd left for home.

When they had arrived in the huge mansion, his father finally told him why:  
'As a Malfoy you are to have total control about your subordinates, lower ranked people and also your _partners _and enemies in every possible situation. You must be able to handle difficult personalities and convince them of your intentions. For a start, teach that new pet of yours some manners. It has to absolutely obey your every command, understood, Draco? Failure is no option.'

The silver-blond boy had nodded.  
'Yes, Father.'  
Although his eyes showed a hint of uncertainty which he fortunately was able to hide since the taller man had turned and disappeared into the salon.

In the next week the child had tried a lot of things to make the Kneazle do what it should. He had orderd, he had tried to bribe it with special treats, he had tried to blackmail it, he had shouted.  
But apparantly the Kneazle wasn't interested in following orders but instead snarled whenever a frustrated Draco jumped onto his bed, hitting his little fists in fury and disappointment against the pillows.

After that week, Lucius Malfoy had called his son into the salon. Warm light fell through the picture-window which reached from one corner of the room to the other and was about fifteen metres long and three metres in height. Through the glass one could see a wide part of the garden. Only the adjacent lawn was really being cared for; once a week some old gardener came and put every plant, every flower and tree into the right shape. Draco had never heard him speak one word or look at him or his parents directly.  
Anyway, Lucius had called him there and this time the pale boy wasn't able to let his eyes wander around.  
His father wanted to know about his progress with the Kneazle's taming and Draco had to report how the animal still didn't behave like it should after it had accepted its master.

'So what you're saying is that not even such a low creature recognises you as its master? You aren't even able to make a _pet_ do what you want, Draco?'  
With every word Lucius's facial expression grew darker and more terrifying. His own eyes seemed to be made of steel which were now piercing his son without mercy but snideness and disdain.  
The young wizard couldn't answer, so he just nodded, his gaze directed at the magenta carpet under his feet. His father's disappointment pressed down on him and hurt.

After he'd been sent back to his room, Draco was poised to crash something on the wall or the floor or anywhere and it didn't matter if it was some expensive toy or book or rare item because all of his things were expensive. But in the last second he contained himself – father would be even angrier if he now really behaved like an immature child. And sometimes Draco felt fear creeping up inside of him when faced with the Malfoy patriarch's forced calmness under which the rage seethed that could well up any time when they were home and without outsiders around.  
He'd already been lucky to have gotten off lightly this time.  
Sliding to the cold marble ground of his room, the boy leaned against the bed and closed his eyes for some seconds. What was he to do with this damned Kneazle? He now understood why his father had bought him one but in half a year or so he'd go to Durmstrang, a famous and renowned school for wizardry and – in private – for the dark arts, where certainly pets wouldn't be allowed (except for owls). Oh, well, or Hogwarts. He'd heard his father discuss this possibility with some of his unfriendly, arrogant friends whose children were about the same age as him, at least some of them. Although he seldomly met them, every time their parents brought the children together, without exception all pure-bloods, they had of course enjoyed the rides on the fastest brooms available for their age and talked about the journeys they had undertook and the absurd idea of messing around with muggle-friends or mudbloods. It was just ridiculous, wasn't it?

_Whatever_, the pale blonde thought, suddenly irritated, and from the corner of his eyes watched the Kneazle uncurle. It had scratched him with its sharp claws as he'd tried to make it sit down by grasping its long tail. He still wasn't sure wether that creature could understand people to a certain degree or not, so if the latter was the case, he'd decided to go for a direct lesson – which, quite obviously – hadn't been to the Kneazle's liking at all. And in the end, to his own neither.  
_No_, Draco decided and felt his pride take the lead. If that stupid animal wasn't willing to follow his orders, he wouldn't be interested in it anymore. Should some house-elf try its luck.  
In that moment, Draco didn't think about his father's reaction if he came to know that his son didn't intend to fulfill his new exercise. He didn't think about possible consequences a bit. Later, he would realise that this was a characteristic typical for him – if someone (or something) provoked his pride or hurt his ego, stubbornnes and rash actions were his answer (as long as it wasn't his father, that is).

Standing up, he went over to his desk and ignored both the Kneazle and the stinging of his fresh wounds. Partly it was the animal's scratches, party it was the fading remainings of his father's crane hitting his legs or arms sometime or other. But only if he'd really done something utterly inappropriate for a Malfoy. And he tried hard to be the son his father wished to have. Or rather, excpected him to be without lenience.  
He desperately wanted to be a worthy son and become as capable as his father.

_A yearning.  
Desperate and self-destructive.  
When there are so many kind words in so many languages  
Why aren't they spoken to you?_


	3. Close

(In case anyone wonders - this story might not always go chronologically with the original books since it will probably be geared only roughly to them.  
Anyway, please enjoy reading _Waifs and Strays_!

Original Characters (c) J. K. Rowling; this original story (c) myself

Lyrics: Kings of Leon, _Closer_)

* * *

'Hello Mother.'

'Draco. Welcome home, dear.'

The woman with the long gold-coloured blond curls didn't turn but was still busy writing a letter in the warm light of the large fire-place that casted quivering shadows over the spacious living room and its antique furniture. Outside, night had dawned and it had become dark.  
Draco stepped closer but halted two metres beside his mother.  
Everyone had to admit that Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman; her dark blue eyes were skilfully rouged and even without any make-up, her features spoke of noblesse and self-confidence. Her whole posture and her movements were graceful and right now her slender fingers scurried over the parchment with the Hippogryphon's quill.  
Suddenly, the scraping sound stopped. Narcissa stood up and looked at her son.

'Is anything wrong, Draco?', she asked and frowned slightly.

The boy whose skin even in the flare of the fire looked pale shook his head, silver blond strands of hair fell over his eyes.  
'Nothing at all, Mother. Do you know wether Father's guest has arrived yet? He told me to greet the new teacher but didn't want to be disturbed...'

Narcissa stared at her son for some seconds before she replied.  
'As far as I know, Lucius should be in the salon now. He mentioned the arrival of a guest, indeed.'

'Thank you, Mother.'

He wanted to go but the blond woman's elegant, emerald green gown fluttered hushedly as she approached him and softly placed a hand on his bony shoulder, helding him up.  
'Why don't you eat enough?', Narcissa enquired forcefully. 'Draco, it's obvious you've lost weight during the last semester.'  
The seventeen year old averted his grey eyes and placated the anxious woman, willing his lips into a narrow smile when he eventually faced her again.  
'It's alright. Hogwart's house-elves just cooked rather unsavourly recently and the Quidditch practise occupies much time so – I guess I had other things in mind.'  
Cold, delicate fingers cupped his right side of the face. To him, they didn't feel cold at all. In the next moment, the gentle touch was gone, though, and Narcissa had stepped back.  
'Then I suppose it's better if you don't let your father wait.'

Draco nodded, the smile gone, and disappeared into the flickering shadows towards the salon.

.........................................................................................................................................

_Sometimes it's hard to look at oneself without asking:  
Who are you?  
Who am I, indeed?  
And sometimes it's even harder trying to answer at all  
When there are so many others who tell you how to be  
How to behave  
How to live  
How to think  
When so many others know who you are  
Why bother yourself?  
When so many others know who you are  
Then there cannot be any doubt about them being right.  
Can there?  
Can there, I wonder...  
_

.........................................................................................................................................

The next day arose with bright sunlight which fell through the high windows and spirited off the glittering raindrops all over the landscape, remains of the summer storm raging last night. As the sunlight grew warmer and warmer on Dracos skin, he eventually opened his eyes dozily, for half a minute not moving at all, only taking in his surroundings through the shadows of his eyelashes: The high ceiling, the curtains to both sides of the windows, the few waterdrops on them, breaking the light into varicoloured fragments on the walls.  
As he rubbed his eyes and sat up, his gaze fell upon the curled up Kneazle beside his pillow; its red eyes stared back at him before it closed them again and without warning leapt at Draco's side, snuggling up to him.  
A smile crossed the boy's face and he caressed the creature for a few seconds in which he was trying to fully wake up, enjoying the silky fur on his bare skin.

As expected, his breakfast stood prepared on a small table beside his grand bed but Draco didn't feel any hunger yet so he went into the bathroom in order to shower and freshen up first. Looking into the ornate mirror, light grey eyes stared back and he was glad he hadn't looked in it before the showering. His damp hair sticked to his forehead and temples and limited his sight – it had grown a real tad in the last months indeed but that didn't bother Draco. He liked it a little longer. Did he want to grow it as long as his father? No, definetly not.  
_Although_, he thought whilst he toweled himself off and returned to his bedroom, _a few years ago I might have wanted_.  
The marble floor wasn't completely covered by carpets and as the young wizard stepped out of the bath, a shiver ran down his spine at the contact with the cold floor.

_Stranded in this spooky town  
Stoplights are swaying and the phonelines are down  
This floor is crackling cold  
_

Whilst he dressed – black trousers and a shirt which matched his eyes – Draco thought about the things awaiting him today. He'd managed to appeal the new teacher his father had introduced the night before. No challenge since by now he had six years of experience buttering teachers up, not to mention the people of his father's circle of aquaintances even before his school enrolment. A skill both his parents and himself were proud of.  
Anyway, important were the guests that had arrived later, much later in the night, when his mother had already excused herself and the black robes with the – in his eyes – ridiculous masks had gathered in the salon. He'd had to listen to their stories, plans and laughter and learn. As the Malfoy heir he was to succeed as a Death Eater, too, and being presented as a member at his age already was a way to strengthen their reputation and enhance their prestige. He had to prove worthy of the name Malfoy and of working under the Dark Lord. Otherwise, his whole family's life would soon cease to remain as decadent and safe as it was as long as they served the strongest wizard alive whilst at the same time playing their role as refined, untouchable members of the high society.

Draco snarled lowly at the thought of the Dark Lord and opened one of the French windows, stepping out on the balcony from where he had a marvellous view over the estate.  
Lord Voldemort might be the strongest wizard and he might as well stand for the realisation of every Death Eater's honourable traditions but still – nobody felt _safe_ close to the Dark Lord. He was like the living personification of death and torture. Only his fanatic and really morbidly sick followers enjoyed themselves torturing in broad daylight, face to face with their victims. Those could be as abhorrent and cruel at night and day alike.  
However, for many of them it was the ideals worth fighting for, their crumbling tradtions to be preserved and rebuilt and they didn't torture for the sake of it. Torture was a means to an end and nothing more. And those dark wizards and witches often had problems looking at the bloody consequences of their nighty foraies the next day.

_  
She took my heart  
I think, she took my soul  
With the I moon run  
Far from the carnage of the fiery sun  
_

The pale bond boy shook his head ever so slightly and closed the windows again before waving his wand into his dark leather bag's direction. A thick wallet floated into it as well as the package he'd fetched from the ominous shop the day before, right after Hogwarts's students had been dismissed for summer break, and the bag lifted itself up from the ground, hanging itself over Dracos's shoulder.  
The object being ordered by his father had been a flat lie. But usually he'd have been too young to purchase it and naming Lucius Malfoy always carried a certain weight which reduced any bargaining to a mere command from his side. Who would have dared to question Lucius Malfoy's son anyway?

Having looked into the mirror for one last time and quickly combing his hair, Draco left his room, his breakfast untouched.  
As he descended the broad spiral stairs leading to the entrance hall, part of his thoughts wandered back to the other Death Eaters. And however unpleasant the idea was, he knew he couldn't change it: Though intrigued, at the beginning, by their revolutionary actions and exciting schemes to get the old pure-blood families back what had partly been taken from them due to the special consideration of muggles, blood-traitors and the like, and although he'd thought to have a walk-over with anyone standing in their way, something didn't work out as he thought it would. Indeed, he didn't hesitate to hurt people in order to support his father's strategies or plainly in order to survive for the Dark Lord turned out to be a very impatient master.  
_Master._ Draco shuddered to think. He hated that word fervently if it wasn't directed at him.

To make it short, he had no problem fighting others with all his might and he would have loved to face that bloody Harry Potter in a duel and clearly demonstrate his own superiority since in truth he'd always had a hot temper but – and this point turned out to endanger everything he had achieved in his life so far – he just hadn't been able to kill a person yet. Goes without saying, he felt impelled to obey if the Dark Lord gave him an order and he could oblige him to do so using the Imperius Curse, of course, but the perfidiousness was that the Lord wanted Draco to do it being fully conscious and of sound mind.  
Until now, he had always obeyed the orders from above. To prove his worth, his skills. To protect his pride as best as he could through performing the given tasks excellently. And to eke out a firm place within the world that was going to form soon under the Death Eaters's power.  
Who needed weak feelings such as mercy in times when almost everyone only fought for themselves and one false step meant either instant death or being dragged into some Auror's torture cellar?  
Hence he had adjusted himself to the circumstances, the rules of his father's education in mind at all times.  
Nonetheless, the white faced youngster who - at least according to wizarding law - could be held responsible as an adult yet, realised he was having his back up against the wall.

Walking through the marble hall and straight out of a side entrance which lead him into the warm air outside and over a narrow pavement towards a summerhouse the size of an average family home, Draco opened the locked door with a flick of his wand, thought _Accio broom_ and soared into the sky the next moment, leaving under him all constrictions and worries. Even if only for some precious, limited time.

_  
Driven by the strangle of vein  
Showing no mercy I do it again  
Open up your eyes  
You keep on crying, baby  
I'll bleed you dry _

_The skies are blinking at me  
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea_

_And it's coming closer_


	4. Unseen

Draco stood stock-still. His grey eyes stared in disbelief and mistrust at the scene in front of him, all the sensation and easiness of flying high and fast through the air had vanished. Right now, he wasn't even sure what to think, let alone feel.  
He was standing on the brink of the great entrance hall where at least a dozen Aurors and officials from the Ministry of Magic were crowded, in their middle Lucius Malfoy, handcuffed and relieved of his wand for Draco immediately catched sight of it in the hand of some Auror. Of course he'd recognise it, it had always hovered saturninely in the back of his mind, always waiting for a wrong move, for failure. Like some desease overcoming generations. Because back then, it had also hovered above his father.

Whilst the now sickly pale looking boy stared wide-eyedly at him, Lucius catched glimpse of the lank figure standing in the shadows of the spiral stairs. Lucius Malfoy's own grey eyes locked with his son's and for a split second he seemed to falter inwardly, to fight a conflict no-one should see. But that second was gone far too fast and the next moment the blond man straightened up, looking as dismissive and imposing as he faced the Ministry wizards that Draco almost forgot he'd been disarmed in his own estate.

'I assume, gentlemen', said the silver-blond, tall wizard, though only piercing one certain official among them, who seemed to have the word, with an icy glare, 'that you possess a good reason for storming into my house, unsettling my wife and daring to confiscate my wand. At least, you should, since otherwise I would be forced to acknowledge this rather rash action as a direct offence against one of the most important and influential wizarding families there are. You know that I'm friends with the Minister and that he always welcomed my opinion.'

The wizard whom he had stared down, backed away the tiniest bit but otherwise remained surprisingly brave.  
'I'm informed about your connections, Mr Malfoy, but I am afraid you'll have to accompany us personally nonetheless this time. As soon as your rehearsal has been finished and progressed with a positive result, you'll also get your wand back at once. Please don't resist and follow me, Mr Malfoy. In case you're innocent, it won't need long anyway.'

And with these words, Lucius Malfoy and a crowd of members of the Ministry left the estate, Disapparating not until they reached a point somewhere in front of the high entrance gates. The moment their bodies started to dissolve, Lucius cast a last look back to see his son staring at him from behind the hall's wooden doors.  
_Look after your mother_, mouthed Lucius with a warning look, before he disappeared into thin air.

_It could be  
You've got it all  
It could be  
You lose it all  
It could be  
For you it's all the same  
And you are too busy surviving  
As to notice the difference  
That makes things meaningful  
_

'Mother...?'

Draco stood in the salon where Narcissa was facing the window front, not reacting to her title, not looking at her son. Her long, blonde curls fell as neatly as ever over her shoulders and back but the hair pin she usually wore to pull the strands out of her face lay on the marble floor to her feet.  
Draco took one step closer but hesitated and addressed his mother again.  
'Mother, don't worry. Father will not let them get through with this.'  
Narcissa Malfoy didn't answer but continued to stare at something on the other side of the glass.  
The pale boy behind her seemed to consider saying something else but in the last moment he choked back the words he was about to speak aloud and turned round instead, heading for his room with long strides. As he climbed the spiral stairs, his expression grew furious and when he arrived in his dormitory, he slammed the door shut and desperately clawed his slender fingers into his platin blonde hair.

_Why won't she talk to me_?, he thought and a painful memory of a similiar incident made him flinch. It physically hurt and cost him a great deal of self-restraint not to let it show on the outside longer than a few mere seconds. But he managed. He managed to get back a face most people would describe as arrogant. Even now, that he was alone in his room, he managed this kind of pokerface he'd aquired only through living as a Malfoy. And even though sometimes it cost a lot of energy to maintain, by now, he showed it almost reflexively. Like a natural reaction to anything from the outside. Keep your pokerface, no matter wether it shows indifference or arrogance, superiority or power.  
Keep your temper, he thought and closed his grey eyes for a moment. Calm down, a Malfoy always keeps the overview.  
He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. As he pulled his wand out of his belt, silver sparks flew from its tip even before he thought of any spell.

_It could be  
You've got it all  
It could be  
You lose it all  
It could be  
The only person that you trust  
Is yourself  
For on your own  
There's no-one you could lose again  
_


	5. After Life

Original story(c)Joanne K. Rowling  
This specific story(c)Shruika

Lyrics: Muse, _Undisclosed Desire_

In the chapters before, Draco had been 17 years old. This new part starts after a time-skip of five years, though there might be flashbacks sometimes, and this fifth chapter will probably the longest. Hence, no use getting used to such long ones.  
Enjoy reading... _  
_

* * *

5 years later...

* * *

_Please me, show me how it's done_  
_Tease me, you are the one_

'Hmm... what might you be thinking about right now?'  
The woman's voice was velvet and sounded smoky and with another murmured 'hmm', she reached up, her long red hair falling over her bare shoulders, only partly covering her breasts, cupped the silent man's right cheek and pulled him down to her to meet her full lips.  
In between the growingly fervent kisses and the soft ones that the blond man now began placing onto her collar-bone, the glen between her breasts, the sensitive side of her rips, he answered in a low, wondering tone: 'What do I think about... Right now -', and he paused for a moment, looking up to her under fair strands of hair, '- right now, would you rather know that or let us continue, beautiful?'  
Despite herself, the woman felt her cheeks colour and smiled wickedly back at him which was answer enough.

…  
In the morning, both of them laid in tangled sheets on the king-sized bed, their eyes closed, the morning light falling in mellow raies through the half-open curtains that reached down to the floor where scattered clothes, two roughly discarded cloaks and piles of books took their space.  
The woman was the first to slowly open her rouged eyes – thanks to a handy little cosmetic charm it didn't smear over a night's activities – brushed long dark-red strands of hair out of her face and turned carefully to the apartment's owner who still seemed to be sound asleep next to herself. With the tip of her indexfinger she trailed over his pale, smooth chest, up to shoulder and just before she reached his neck, his hand caught her wrist.  
'My my', she smiled at him as, with obvious effort, he cracked his grey eyes open to stare at her drowsily, but decidedly kept her fingers from touching his neck. 'You really aren't a morning person, Draco. Not that I wouldn't be able to relate to that', the witch chuckled.  
Draco still didn't say anything except making a chuntering noise, closed his eyes shut again and turned over onto his side like a child that really, really didn't think getting up and ready for wizarding school so early in the morning was anything that should be imposed on them during their lifetime. Ever.

The red-haired witch, however, found her way out of bed and sneaked a glance through the dark curtains which kept most of the – in Draco's case – offensive sunlight out. Even though she knew that the high arched windows were enchanted so as to not let anyone from the outside get a look inside this apartment, it wouldn't have been all that necessary since Draco's flat was on the fifths floor, over-looking some labyrinthine alleys with older as well as more recent magical shops and pubs and night clubs, the latter of which looked rather down-and-out in broad daylight.  
But she didn't need to observe this as she had been to Draco's flat before, so she turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

All the whilst, the blond man lied motionlessly on his bed, grey eyes half-opened, staring at the closest wall. Bit by bit, the drowsiness dissipated and after another minute he finally forced himself to sit upright, propping his elbows on his knees and contemplating on wether he should leave the witch whose name was Caitir, all alone in the shower and make some well-needed coffee for the both of them, now that he was awake, or wether it was worth a try to join her. Remembering her gorgeous body – and it was gorgeous indeed, with its soft and welcoming curves, the rolling lips, the very faint freckles that only showed when she blushed (which, with her self-confidence, she almost never did), the fiery flow of hair reaching down to her ellbows... - no, remembering Caitir's gorgeous body, Draco didn't need to contemplate long.  
He reached for his wand that lay next to his head at all times when not stored at his waist, waved it towards his open kitchen and let the coffee brew and prepare itself. There were more urgent and especially more pleasant things to do in the morning...

It was half past eight when Draco and Caitir emptied their coffee mugs, sitting at the bar table that had come together with the loft. Without paying attention, the red-haired witch pointed her wand at her remaining things lying on the ground around the bed and levitated them into her handback which probably could've contained the bed itself, too, due to its augmentation charm.  
She pursed her lips at Draco who was sitting across from her, reading the Daily Prophet.  
'How funny that most men are no use at night, yet always get so entertaining in the morning, despite clearly being no morning person.'  
Darkishly grey eyes caught her gaze as Draco looked up from the gazette.  
'Not that the former applied to you, mind you, ', the woman smirked appreciatingly. No, she had enjoyed herself almost until dawn alright. That was the reason she regularly paid this man a visit and stayed overnight. This and...  
'How funny that most women think the same – in all aspects', replied the blond wizard haughtily which made Caitir chuckle. She liked his self-confidence; all too often she encounted muggle men and wizards alike whose self-esteem didn't even come close to hers and that made conversation, flirting and sex all the same disappoingly dissatisfying. Luckily, no worry here, though. And even if Draco happened to be mute, his body was still attractive enough as to make up for his quick-witted speech, and he was more than well aware of that.

'Still being a voyeur without paying, beautiful?', asked Draco, now smirking himself.  
'Did you ever doubt I would not take whatever I can, beau?', she replied.  
'Not at all, I've known you long enough for that matter.'  
'Then I assume you'll let me appreciate what I like furthermore, lest I'll keep what _you_ like to myself.'  
'Perish the thought, no living being would be able to endure such a loss!'  
They both laughed now whilst the sun lightened up the flat and a gentle breeze swept in fresh, mild air.  
'Alright then, keep watching me all you like, but I am still demanding a little favour in return for feeling mentally stripped and at least half violated by your cheeky staring.'  
'What might that be', murmured the witch and her deep red hair silkily flowed over her shoulders again when she leaned over the bar and shared a passionate kiss with her host.

Another ten minutes later, Draco saw her off as she left through the old wooden door and disappeared in the magically disarranged staircase that muggles would never find the entrance to and wizards and witches alike had to possess an invitational charm vocalised by the resident himself to be able to find their way up to the fifth floor.  
Closing the door, he turned around and with a few wavings of his wand tidied up his flat so that it looked as neat and spartanic as ever, excepting the piles of books towering here and there. He'd always enjoyed Potions during his time in Hogwarts and the curiosity had never left him afterwards. Magical objects and talismans also piqued his interest at times, which he credited his upbringing in a manor that harboured countless dark artefacts for, so some artefacts and scrolls on that topic lined up on shelves, too.

It was Saturday, and on the week-end there were two things Draco tried to take his time to do:  
Strolling through the wizarding part of Edinburgh, looking for anything remotely interesting and entertaining, before taking a walk through the muggle part and ending up in the park or at the river. Anyway, depending on his mood, he sometimes dismissed all that for a flight on his broom and only returned in the dead of the night.  
The other thing, though, which rather fell under moonlighting, was partaking in dubious late-night shows proceeding in the darker parts of wizarding Edinburgh, hidden under protective and concealing spells to avert the authorities and people without money. These underground shows mainly consisted of faked Wizarding Duels including betting onlookers, Potion sales and auctions and Stripping. He'd participated in the first two and didn't plan on joining the – admittedly – hot witches who could get rid of their already manageable amount of clothes in the most extraordinary manner. And that talking about the possibilities a witch had even without holding her wand. Not that there weren't any male strippers, but Draco didn't plan on joining them either, despite two or three who had suggested he'd use his given outward appearance for more than private pleasures. Money ruled the world, but he knew that. Had he been baptised, it would have been his baptism verse given by his parents.

_I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask_

He hadn't even felt flattered anymore, since people had always mentioned his handsomeness for as long as he could remember. Goes without saying, at some point it had become nothing more than hollow words to him, aimed at getting on good terms with the Malfoy heir, and – alas – why wouldn't people want that. Still, although he was feeling lucky to be able to twist people around his little finger without so much as being his good-looking self and maybe crack a smile at them, he at times also was annoyed at how they would, without a doubt, come to speak of his appearance.  
Nonetheless, he had cracked a smile at said stripper and continued his business.

With a pondering look on his pointed face, Draco watched the people walking the alleys below his loft, some of them disappearing through walls or in vanishing telephone booths that led straight through the ground, others hurrying about with suspicious bags under their arms, looking hecticly over their shoulders. From up here, it was all so easy to see and understand, Draco thought.  
And with that thought, he flipped on his coat, put his wand through the black and intriguely looking belt he wore and left.

It was a mild morning in May but the breeze here was quite brisk and, compared to England, the wind blew almost every day which let the felt temperature drop a few degrees. Yet, since it was such a bright day and Draco didn't mind the wind tousling his otherwise sleek hair. No formal meeting, no keeping up the appearance, no boring shallow small-talk.  
Going down the streets, knowing which short-cuts to take and which alleys only were worth visiting after dark, the wizard reached a small café where he sometimes went for breakfast. Somehow, he strongly disliked eating breakfast alone. At times, when he thought about it, he got angry because it was an awkwardness he was not used to harbour. What was so bad about eating alone? And of course, he knew the answer, although it didn't change the awkward feeling.  
During his childhood, he'd rarely sit and eaten together with his parents. More often than not with his mother Narcissa, when she didn't attend any brunches with the upper class women of other noble and renowned wizarding families or took her part in attending to the Malfoy family business. But even though she seemed sorry at times for not being able to spend more 'common' time with him, she'd always put her priorities straight. She still did.  
His father Lucius, on the other hand, had been busy with business trips, business meetings, being present in public and taking care of his good relations with the Ministery of Magic and all its higher ups, and therefore, having time to acutally sit down and eat together with his wife and son had been an event occuring maybe six or seven times. A year.

When Draco opened the door of the cozy and old-fashioned café whose ground was a few narrow steps lower than the side-walk outside of the window, just like that of most shops going back more than a 200 years, a little bell rang to announce the customer's entering. The old couple owning the one-room café had it in family possession for over 215 years, as the talkative white-haired witch never got tired to tell anyone who stayed for at least a drink. And while she baked truly delicious cakes and cookies, her favourite surprise for curious and brave guests was a secret receipt that let her family's Haggis introduce itself in such a formidable manner that the customer could downright forget what the meal on the plate in front of him acutally was that stated its name's origin and cited Burn's poems in any language the customer understood best.  
It was the old wizard this time, though, who welcomed the Draco and kindly winked him to a non-occupied small round table for one or two people. Whilst his wife did the talking and cooking, he took care of the drinks, made the dishes and cleaned the whole place up. He didn't ask Draco what he'd get, only let his eyes twinkle the tiniest bit and smiled benignly whilst he continued to polish the whisky glasses behind the bar.  
Draco didn't mind; he actually found the old wizard quite nice and courteous with his calm and placid way of tending to the choires and guests alike. Neither meddlesome nor judgemental. Just... placid. So he ordered the house's special breakfast which was their standard dish but tasted special enough for his taste, and the wizard nodded and informed the chattering chef in the back who in return gave her husband a lovingly kiss on the cheek before preparing the new order.

Now this... the low murmur of other guests deeply lost in conversation, enjoying their meals, the warmth of the ancient fireplace and ovens, the flavour seeping out of the kitchen, the old couple's kind gestures... The people of all ages laughing at unusual and quaint charms amusing the people in forms of fluttering butterflies made of paper and old lace and tulle, and ancient kitchen tools offering politely and with a heavy Old Scottish accent – sometimes also in Gaelic – to weight out the guests' chance of meeting a faery before telling them old legends and stories, most of which had a true core when you had magic in you yourself...  
Now, all that was why Draco preferred eating out here and amidst strangers over sitting in his own flat with some kind of expensive and extraordinary meal but all alone. He couldn't stand the silence whilst eating, it made him loose his appetite and whenever he didn't eat out regularly because he wasn't in the mood, had important meetings or was otherwise not able to, it could happen he didn't eat more than an apple and drink a lot over the day (if he remembered, he'd conjure some self-made energy potion) for more than two weeks.  
Being engulfed in silence with a meal cooling off in front of him reminded him so much of sitting in the large dining hall whose marble floor had always been cold, despite the pride he took in his home and despite the equally large fireplace and expensive carpets; not that anything owned by the Malfoys, especially displayed in Malfoy Manor, had ever not been expensive. Nonetheless, the value of his surroundings didn't do anything to improve eight-years old Draco's appetite, nor did it when he turned ten and after his eleventh birthday, he finally was allowed to enter Hogwarts, the famous Wizarding School hidden in the Highlands of Scotland, far from any muggle eyes.  
And it was there, that he finally had other people, children his age even, with whom he could sit together and talk and exchange entertaining stories whilst the delicious flow of food that satisfied anyone who tasted it never stopped. And amidst his fellow Slytherin housemates, he'd finally learned how enjoyable it could be to eat together.

Hence, the young man with the white-blond hair didn't mind not knowing anyone personally here, or in any other place he visited to eat, for that matter. And he still preferred to have private time left for himself, be it when he took his trips flying on his newest broom over the cities and wide fiels of the cetral lowlands or sitting relaxedly on a sitting cushion in his apartment with his back leaning against the wall or window, reading an interesting book.  
Yeah, he still wasn't tired of this place, Draco thought and was just about to take a bite out of his breakfast when a voice called out for him. And he'd be damned if he didn't remember it instantaneously, but a hand had alreay placed itself on his shoulder.


End file.
